


Quiet Desperation

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death from Old Age, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Growing Old, Illnesses, Marriage, Memories, Old Age, Reflection, Sad, Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “You were the last person he saw before he closed his eyes, and the first when he roused himself into awareness each morning. He found that when he reached retirement, after being a member of the police force for forty-three years, he would lie in bed longer, appreciating the warm glow of the sun spilling across his bare skin. You used to laugh at his brazenness, chiding him as he would climb out of your bed in all of his nude glory despite the toll gravity took on his once-toned body.” Aomine lives out the last moments of his life recalling the times he shared with you.





	Quiet Desperation

Aomine has always had the habit of overthinking – not in the sense that he uses his brain for the things that he probably _should_ – but he often finds himself lost to a myriad of memories when he least expects it. Especially now in his old age, he can't help but call upon the images and the impressions of his youth. There are times that leave him smiling at their startling clarity, while others bring tears to the thinning lines of his lashes, rendering him vulnerable from the surfacing nostalgia that leaves him weak in his arthritic knees.

Sometimes he catches himself flicking through the channels on his flat-screen, but he finds that he's more interested in resurfacing old memories nowadays—because listening to the news reporter declare domestic terrorism and the name of a new disease (that he can't begin to pronounce) which produces symptoms with no current physiological or anatomical cause to be found, is much less interesting than recalling his past.

He thinks it's funny, how he's grown to be so sentimental. He blames it on his current state and the knowledge that he won't ever be able to move the way that he used to. In fact, he hasn't in years now. He can't remember the last time he played basketball but it feels like forever, which breeds an ache of disappointment that lances through his heart because he knows that there's no chance of recovery at this stage in his life. And it may hurt now, but years ago it damn near killed him. Though, he supposes he's just come to terms with things and finally accepted the lack of mobility that comes with aging. His physical condition is still remarkably good for his age but he can feel how much his body has broken down with time. He knows he's reaching the inevitable, can feel it in the way his heart beats and the way he has to breathe a bit harder than he used to, but the weight of reality doesn't feel so suffocating, as it once did.

He spends most of his days on the couch or in his favorite chair by the window, if the constant protest in his knees allows it because the distance to the resplendent glass is quite the journey with damaged joints and the eroded cartilage caused by his arthritis. Not to mention the ache in his hips, bruised by his constant state of imbalance. But today he's braved the distance and settled in against the weight of the worn chair he denied disposal of despite its bedraggled state. He has a book in his hands but he still doesn't find much time to read, save for the old dusty gravure magazines that he once read for pleasure. He admittedly lacks the stamina of his younger years, though not entirely impotent, he finds enjoyment in other areas now—which was truly the most startling revelation in his eyes given how sexually aggressive he was prior to becoming a senior.

He looks out the window, enjoying the scenery he would have once overlooked, and wonders how many things he missed out on in favor of the selfishness that commonly comes with young adulthood. He finds it ironic, how he's lost most of his hearing, and yet his senses are much more impressive than they used to be. He can hear the chirping of the birds nestled high in the trees just off the deck beyond the patio door; he can smell the fragrant notes of cherry blossoms in the crisp breeze that creeps through the edges of the windows. He has to squint to see clearly now but he knows that his sight could be worse, and his mind has stayed mostly intact, which is what he truly cares about. And should there ever come a day when he starts to lose his sanity, he would happily abandon all of his senses if it meant keeping a firm hold on his memories.

There's a mug of instant coffee between his hands, still steaming from the water he boiled on the stove. It's tasteless, like most things he tries to swallow now, but it's to be expected. He lacks the appetite he once had, fatigue has replaced the longing for such things—things that seem trivial notwithstanding their necessity. He closes his eyes and listens to the washing machine turn by itself and the sounds of nature that reach his ears.

He tries to locate the memories that bring warmth to his eyes and fill his heart with a fondness so tangible he can almost taste the sweet on his tongue. But sometimes his mind betrays him, taking him back to times that he would much rather forget.

There had been a war, an impending storm that would last all of four years. It brought death and destruction, mostly elusive, but for some, it brought the promise of something _better_. It was a constant presence in his fifties, a crippling fear that lived behind the dark fall of his lashes. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried to move on, every time he closed his eyes all he could see was blood and devastation. He feared for his own life but not nearly as much as he worried about the protection and safety of his wife and child.

But somehow, you made it through. You had grown old together, shared times both good and bad. Your child had grown from adolescence to adulthood and prospered, moving on to live a life of their own. It made Aomine proud, and despite his aversion to becoming old enough to be deemed _grandpa_ by his grandchild, he loved every second of it.

The hair that once blanketed his head in dark blue turned gray, and wrinkles began to form on his face, turning the corners of his mouth and eyes to fine lines that would crinkle every time he would express enjoyment. You used to trace each wrinkle, giving it a name for the times you shared as he would slowly drift off to sleep. You were the last person he saw before he closed his eyes, and the first when he roused himself into awareness each morning. He found that when he reached retirement, after being a member of the police force for forty-three years, he would lie in bed longer, appreciating the warm glow of the sun spilling across his bare skin. You used to laugh at his brazenness, chiding him as he would climb out of your bed in all of his nude glory despite the toll gravity took on his once-toned body.

Those were some of the happiest years of Aomine's life.

But then you left him, moved on nearly three years ago to a place Aomine hopes is what they claim it to be. He wasn't the kind of man to focus his attention on religion but after your death, he found himself reaching out to _something_ that could bring his grief to that of a dull ache because there was no solace in the new silence that surrounded him. He would have given up everything for you, would have gladly moved into the afterlife with you, but you begged him to stay. And for as much as he wished day in and day out that it would have been him instead, the loneliness that spread through him was like cancer and he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. But even with that knowledge, even with your persistence that he was still needed in the present, Aomine couldn't bring himself to believe that there was a place for him without you.

One negative thought bred another and he found himself wallowing in sorrow so deep that he no longer felt the need to hold his heavy head above water. But somehow, _something_ kept him alive. As time passed he remembered things that had gotten lost to the recess of his mind, memories so brilliant they began to imbue him with a sense of encouragement—giving him something to live _for_. So Aomine allowed the memories to grow and over the next few years, up into the present, he let them push out all of the _what ifs_ and _should haves_ that he spent too much of his youth dwelling on. He let all of you consume him, just as you had during all of the time you spent together when you were still alive. You had known him better than himself at times, and he was able to draw the secrets and the dreams you harbored out of you in ways no one else could. He clung to those thoughts like the blanket he carried around as a child, never letting go despite how much he needed to at times.

Aomine cradles the cup of warm coffee between the wrinkled lines of his dry palms as he opens his tired eyes and smiles softly to himself. He reaches for a framed photograph on the table and holds it in his shaking hand, sighing with all the weight of a man with a broken heart as he presses his lips to the glass, right over your smiling face.

“I don't know how you did it. You always drove me crazy, but somehow you managed to win me over.” He says the words aloud to the room before laughing, the sound low and raspy in the back of his throat. “I miss you so much.”  
  
Aomine blinks and lets the salt-damp collecting on his lashes spill down his cheeks, glistening on the tan of his skin where all the years he spent in the sun discolored his complexion. The corners of his lips are still curved, framing the dig of his mouth into a smile that touches on sympathy. He thinks about how a handful of his friends and acquaintances have already passed on. Kagami died the previous fall from a nasty bout of pneumonia, and Tetsu died not long after of what Satsuki still believes to have been a broken heart—and _oh god_ how Aomine can relate. He still wishes he could have spoken to Tetsu more, but he was traveling the world with Kagami and their adopted children and Aomine didn't think there was any room for an old man such as himself in the blue-haired boy's life—a misconception on his behalf—one that he didn't know until years later when Kise walked up the steps to his home with a stilted message from Tetsu that still makes him laugh when he thinks about it.

He asks Satsuki about the others from time to time, but there's been no word on Akashi since he moved up North with his family. Murasakibara is still thriving in the heart of Tokyo, refusing retirement, much to Aomine's surprise. Midorima occasionally spends his time visiting local hospitals when they're in need of assistance, having made it to the top ten in his career in his late twenties, an accolade that carried over to the day that he retired. He doesn't know much about his former teammates, neither university nor the national league. He knows he should have stayed in touch but he was never all that sentimental and he felt that he had all that he needed with those already in his life.

Aomine's father had died during the war but his mother lived a full life before she slipped off in her sleep. He remembers the look on her face when he entered the small hospital room she was stationed in. She had taken him by the hand and whispered into his ear how proud she was of his accomplishments when he kissed the warmth of her sagging cheek. She looked tired and timeworn, but to Aomine, she looked as beautiful as she did on the day of her wedding.

Aomine had been seventy-one then, and he mourned the loss of his mother, but his grief paled in comparison to your death because his mother was ninety-five years old and _ready_. He had time to prepare for the loss, but your death came on too sudden and there was nothing Aomine could do to ready himself for the day that he would have to say goodbye. And even now, with the memory of you shining brighter than ever, he can't think about it without growing despondent. He had been scared then, afraid to live without the presence of a woman to guide him, to love him in the ways he felt a man never could. He was eighty-two when you passed, and he spent the entire night crying himself to sleep. He used your pillow as a blanket and the bed sheets as a pillow and when he woke in the morning, he cried again. It became almost routine and it took Aomine all the strength left in his body to keep himself from falling back into bed, never to leave it until he could see you again. He wished that he could feel something other than the bone-deep agony that had drilled a hole right through his soul, but all he could feel was a sadness that fit no dictionary definition for the word. For years he lived with nothing but an empty cavern in his chest, a sinking feeling that he would never experience happiness another day in his life.

But he had promised you that he would live for the both of you until it was his time. Aomine had cursed the stars and pinned all of the blame weighing heavy on his soul on Christ himself for taking you from him. He fell to his knees and tugged at his thinning hair, he slammed his fists against the floor and sobbed until his eyes stung from lack of moisture. And when his heart returned to a normal rhythm, when the tears turned to dryness on his skin, he felt a little bit better. It was marginal and nothing could release him from the chains tethering him to the loss of his love but he could hear your voice in his head. _You have to let go. You have to go on living because you have so much left to offer. You'll see me again._ The words you had spoken on your dying bed, gripping Aomine's hands so tight it must have taken all of the strength you had left.

So the next morning Aomine fought his way out of bed, and it was the first time in what felt like years that he could feel the sun on his skin again. He made his way to the bathroom and managed to wash the previous days from his skin. His reflection was blurred by the steam coating the mirror but he could tell that his eyes were red and bruised as he brushed his teeth. He was tired, but he had finally found meaning in living each day into the next, and that meaning was you. He would continue to live out your last request. He knew it wouldn't be easy, knew that he would never fully recover from the loss, but he speaks to you every day and reminds himself that your separation is only temporary. And over the course of time Aomine began to feel again, the numbness that had settled in his bones slowly returned to the dull ache of age, and anguish was no longer the only emotion he could recognize. He was no longer sinking faster than he could swim, and it felt...nice.

Aomine exhales a long sigh and rises from his chair, his arthritic hands shaking against its frame as he fights for stability. He makes his way into the kitchen, leaving the coffee on the table to slowly cool in its solitude as he reaches for the phone and dials Satsuki's number.

She answers on the third ring and Aomine smiles. Her voice has changed from the years gone by but she still sounds as sprightly as she did when they were children. He couldn't begin to count all the times he warned her to stop calling him _Dai-chan_ but the epithet stuck and he failed to outplay Satsuki's stubbornness. Her voice rings through the receiver, crisp on articulation and Aomine almost wishes he hadn't called at all. But then he musters up the courage and frames his lips around the words he prepared to speak an hour ago.

“It's time, Satsuki.” It's all he says but he knows Satsuki will understand. And he can tell that she does by the shift in her breathing, and he thinks that he can hear something evolve into a small whimper of heartache, but then she's clearing her throat and bringing resonance to the sound.

“I'm going to miss you, Dai-chan, but I'm happy for you. I know how hard it's been on you, how lonely you've been.” She pauses for a brief moment and exhales slowly. “I...I love you. I hope that we'll meet each other again someday.”

Aomine knows that she's struggling with speech, can almost hear how the phone is shaking in her hand. He sympathizes because he knows how unbearable it is to lose someone you love but he's lived out his life and he's dog tired.

“I love you too, Satsuki,” he tells her, his voice soft and the admission genuine. “Please tell Kise. I don't have it in me to call him. I'm sure he'll sob like the big baby he is and I can't bring myself to–” He trails off because he's having trouble formulating what he wants to say and all of his thoughts are forming a lump in the back of his throat.

“I understand,” Satsuki says, sniffling once. “I...Goodbye, Dai-chan.”

“Nah. It's not goodbye,” Aomine says, smiling. “So long, babydoll.”

Satsuki laughs into his ear and Aomine's hands are trembling so badly that he has to return the receiver to its cradle, but he knows it's the best way to end such a dismal conversation.

He turns his face to the sun and nods involuntarily before slowly making his way toward the bedroom. He is an old man; his beliefs and hopes have long surrendered him. He has borne witness to many things, both great and terrifying, things that will be relegated to publications and shared among people for years to come, long after he's passed on.

“I've been wondering how you've been doing,” Aomine says aloud, his fingertips skimming the hallway wall for balance. “Have you been waiting for me?” He turns the corner and steps into the soft light of his bedroom, the furniture unmoved and the many decorations around the room untouched since the day you died.

His bones ache as he climbs into bed, laughing a breathless sort of chuckle because he knows you would have disapproved of how infrequently he's attempted to _make_ the bed. He lets his weight fall back against the mattress and folds his hands over his stomach. He turns his head toward the warm breeze filtering through the gap in the window and closes his eyes.

He smiles, the wrinkles gathered at his mouth stretching as he allows the memories he's held so dear pour over him like the patchwork pictures he looked at when he was able to bear the images frozen to candid stillness in a photo album embossed with your initials. He thinks he can feel his heart slow but it doesn't matter because he's reliving moments that he hasn't forgotten in all of his years on Earth.

It begins with your first meeting—something Aomine couldn't forget if he tried. You had ambushed him in the boys bathroom, peering over the stall as if you had any right to do so. Aomine had cursed at you as he nearly fell off of the toilet in surprise, fingers closing around his trousers in automatic response. You had shown no sign of caring, continuing on about some survey that needed to be filled out, and given Aomine's poor attendance record, he quickly became a target.

It took three days for you to tell him that you were the class president—in the bathroom—over the stall. _Again_.

You quickly became a thing of Aomine's nightmares. It seemed that he couldn't go anywhere without you traipsing after him with a request of some sort. You got under his skin, and the harder he tried to be rid of you, the more determined you became.

He thought you were strange – well, he thought a lot of things about you – but strange was definitely at the top of the list. You spoke of moving on from past mistakes and your desire to be a better person, but no matter how hard you tried, you were a magnet for catastrophe.

Aomine still can't recall when it happened but he found himself wanting to protect you. Though, it would take him years to realize this. And it was easy because you followed him around like the summer breeze and he didn't have to think about wanting to spend time with you. He could make excuses for the shadow at his side and the growing hours he would give to you throughout the day, days that he'd mapped out the night before that never seemed to go his way. But that would just lead back to your eccentricity. You tried so hard to please others, to be the best class president you could be while also balancing schoolwork and after-school activities—and it wasn't that you failed at doing so, but you would get caught up in other things so easily, like a moth hypnotized by the light of a glowing flame. But sometimes you would get too close to the light and you would get burned. You didn't trust others easily and when you did, it was always for all the wrong reasons. You tried to get close to people but you found it difficult to open up: a weakness that you would admit to Aomine one day after club activities when you joined him on top of the school roof.

Aomine lived many years believing that you followed him into Maji Burger the day he confessed his feelings over a pile of hamburgers, fries, and a chocolate shake. However, it would be you who would remind him of how exactly the events transpired many years later in that very same restaurant.

It was a cold winter day and you had woken up late for school. In your haste to make it on time, you'd slipped on the ice just outside the school gates. The concrete cut right through your stockings and scraped the skin right off your knees. Yet, you still managed to push through the front doors with a smile on your face despite the blood smeared across your throbbing joints. You had chased Aomine through the halls, begging him to go to class and iterating a speech about responsibility that he memorized for all the times you repeated it. You laid heavy emphasis on the importance of grades but later that day you would tell him, with tears in your eyes, that you weren't passing all of your classes.

Aomine, who felt sympathy for you, offhandedly suggested that you join him for an after-school snack at the local Maji Burger. The wind was biting and the ground was slick but somehow, you both managed the walk without injury.

You talked over your meals about anything that sparked your interests, deaf to the sound of the other customers and the whistle of wind just outside the frost-tinted windows. And once the food on your trays was consumed, you talked some more. As the sky turned over into night Aomine realized that being in your company wasn't so terrible, and in some perfunctory spur of the moment he confessed his interest in you.

Later that night, when Aomine thrust his lock into his door and broke the key, he found himself smiling so wide it ached all down the angle of his jaw. He went to bed with his hands above the sheets and static in his ears, thinking about you in a new light that would keep him awake until dawn. Or perhaps it was the fact that you, too, openly admitted your feelings, albeit behind your hands, to Aomine's back when you began to part ways.

Aomine started to feel you in every step he took, the shape of your feet falling into his footsteps as he made his way through the bleak halls of T _ōō_ Academy. Your presence became something he'd grown used to, something he _expected_. So on one rainy Thursday when you didn't come to school, Aomine felt concern in the place of the relief he used to feel when you were absent.

He was halfway to your house before he asked himself what he was doing. His mouth pulled tight into a thin frown and his brow creased to paint an expression of irritation across his features. He shoved his hands into his pockets in a gesture of irascibility but he continued his trajectory, never looking back as he grew closer to your residence.

And when he arrived, only to be welcomed into a home that looked nothing like he'd imagined, he saw you sprawled across the couch, your skin an unhealthy pallor and coated in a fine sheen of sweat. Something shot through his heart in that moment, made the blood in his veins a little colder than what he was used to. He named it fear as he was overwhelmed with a compelling need to take care of you.

But in truth, the realization that followed was like a flash of light that split the night into a divergence of color.

Aomine Daiki had fallen in love.

Time went on and it became a known fact that you and Aomine were inseparable. Being together wasn't something that needed consideration, it was just something that _happened_. A habit that slipped into your lives, becoming as routine as the many menial tasks that come with everyday life.

You had taken a field trip to Hokkaido and in the middle of a field surrounded by sheep, Aomine asked if the following year would be the same. You hadn't put a name to whatever it was that you had, but it felt like acceptance and tasted like comfort so Aomine never bothered questioning it. Not until he realized that graduation was growing closer and it became apparent that you would be going in separate directions.

You had answered him with a bright smile and candy on your lips. You reassured him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and promising him another year at his side. Aomine laughed then, his smile warm and bright, and it was the first time you pointed out how perfect it looked on his face. The happiness spread to warmth in his eyes and he couldn't stop himself from pressing his lips to the sticky-sweet of your mouth.

He imagines the moment would have lasted longer without the incessant bleating of sheep and the admonition of your teacher. When you parted, your eyes were glossy with heat and your mouth was slack on surprise. However, the shock wasn't enough to keep you from shouting at Aomine all the way back to the throng of students waiting near the bus about jeopardizing your reputation as class president.

The school year quickly came to an end, thus began the start of summer vacation. Aomine was tossing and turning in his bed, his subconscious pinning thoughts to the back of his mind. He groaned himself into conscious awareness and nearly woke his entire residence with a shout of surprise that tore from his throat after he blinked you into focus. You were sitting on the edge of his bed, playing a video game on mute and very obviously waiting for him to wake up from his restless sleep.

He had been angry but the fire in his veins dissolved into acceptance quicker than he thought imaginable. He avoided taking a shower for the sake of his own privacy, not trusting you to wind up in the bathroom with him. You ate a quick breakfast together before stepping into the morning sun, warm on your skins and promising the sticky heat that comes with hot summer afternoons.

Aomine followed you to your favorite shopping mall and even offered his opinion when you asked about certain items. It was something that Aomine never saw himself doing, something that he'd only ever been roped into without consent. Yet, the entire exchange became effortless, like both of you were a part of the same puzzle and you just _fit_ together.

And when you called Aomine into the fitting room as you spun in a circle, desperately trying to free yourself from an ill-fitted shirt, he truly _knew—_ without question _—_ that he was impossibly, irrevocably in love.

You spent the rest of the day together, dining on cheap meals and filtering in and out of various shops. You had suggested a picnic in the park and Aomine lifted his shoulder in the barest of shrugs that said he didn't really care – but in his heart, he already knew that he would do anything you asked if it meant making you happy. Which meant that Aomine had to _pay_ for the food while you prattled on about potential jobs and future plans. He pretended indifference when in reality, he listened to every word you said with the fixation he would offer Mai-chan when flipping through one of her magazines.

You ate under a large tree as the sun disappeared behind a pastel sky, and all Aomine could think about was waking up next to you in bed every morning. He ate without really tasting the food and answered your questions with weak replies that felt like cotton in his mouth. You ended the night hunting bugs for Aomine's collection and kissing beneath the first stars that stippled the darkening sky.

He remembered asking you if you could see yourself growing old together with anyone, too nervous to supply you with his own name in fear of rejection. You answered him with skepticism, still too insecure in your own image and lacking confidence when it came to your capabilities. You had lifted your head, something swimming in the waters of your gaze that Aomine couldn't name then because you were turning the question on him, curiosity replacing whatever glossed over the bright of your eyes. He nodded without thinking, despite knowing that you would bombard him with questions about who held his interest and his plans for his future.

He couldn't bring himself to say your name, so he soft-pedaled his answers and left you in the dark with all the things he wished he could admit to you.

It would take him two years to tell you how he really felt.

You had gotten into a fight over something trivial, nearly getting yourselves kicked out of an upscale restaurant that really didn't seem to fit either of you. However, Aomine had wanted to try his hand at romance but it hadn't ended the way he expected.

In that, eventually, you wound up down an alley with your clothes wrinkled and your hair in knots. Your lips were swollen red and Aomine had never felt this _alive_ away from the basketball court. He touched your cheek and smiled, breathless enthusiasm turning into a laugh that had confusion tugging at your features. He proposed right there in the alley, heat on his lips and his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thought it was going to explode. He proposed without a ring as it began to rain, washing the sweat from your skins and muffling the excitement breaking into resonance as you threw your arms around his neck.

And even then, in the middle of a storm with the wind and the rain and the thunder, Aomine knew that he was home.

You got married the following spring. Aomine made an oath that he wouldn't cry, one that Tetsu countered with a wager of some forgotten amount. He stood beneath a large arch decorated with flowers of purple and blue in Midorima's backyard. It wouldn't have been his first choice as far as locations go but you had made friends with all of his former teammates and pounced on the passing suggestion as soon as Midorima offered it.

But when you walked down the aisle, Aomine couldn't think of anything but how flawless you were. Not just in beauty, but the _person_ that he'd grown to love with every piece of his soul. He smiled then, reaching out to take your hand, and he would have missed the tears streaming down his face if not for Tetsu pulling out his wallet and resting it in his lap. Aomine laughed and you cried and everything was perfect.

You spent the night dancing and catching up with friends until the early hours of the morning. The moon hung heavy in the sky, complemented by the many stars lighting the cloudless night like the fireflies that continued to cast their glow around those still attending. And when the reception came to a close, promises to see each other again soon were exchanged. Aomine thanked Murasakibara for making the wedding cake and hugged Kise each time the blond returned to weep against the curve of his shoulder. You were chatting idly to Akashi about something to do with horses when Aomine lifted you into his arms and demanded your full attention.

You spent the next seven years in America. You stayed until Aomine received an injury that would no longer allow him to play basketball without surgery and months of rehabilitation, and even with that, he faced a large risk. He cursed his luck and spent the night blaming you for things he knew weren't your fault.

He apologized to you the next morning, but his injury sparked the catalyst that would drive a wedge between you for the next few months. You returned to Japan, and Aomine began to study under the National Police Agency to become a full-time officer while you picked up a part-time job at a local flower shop.

You would fight over bills and money and work, but in the end, you always came back to the same foundation you started on. And as time went on, the framework of that foundation would become stronger, helping you withstand the burdens that creep into every marriage like an untraceable poison that tests the strength of the bond.

It would help your relationship grow stronger, help you learn more about each other. And on the very day that Aomine passed his final exam, you announced your pregnancy, bringing you closer together than what seemed possible.

It was a hard nine months but you finally gave birth to a healthy baby as Aomine tried (and failed miserably) not to cry by your side. The baby weighed six pounds and five ounces and came in at eighteen inches in length. It was a day that Aomine would never forget, a moment carved into his memory so beautiful it warmed his heart whenever it came to mind.

You had your disagreements but it was to be expected considering the fact that you were raised differently yourselves. Not to mention, it was your first time entering parenthood. You took turns in shifts and as months turned to years, your child would grow into a troublesome teenager. You would constantly bring up how closely their personality reflected Aomine's, laughing when Aomine responded with _you better hope not_.

It seemed like time slipped through the cracks over the following years. Aomine started feeling the ache of age in his bones and you fought through a fair number of illnesses that forced you to leave the flower shop and work from home. Your child grew into an adult and left home to start a life of their own and Aomine couldn't have been happier at their success. He never considered himself father material but your persistence that he would do just fine encouraged him, had him striving to be the best father he could be.

It came in the way of startling realization when Aomine began to understand how much of your lives had already passed. You, forever the optimist as Aomine would often say, taught him how to see things differently—telling him that you had many years ahead of you, and with a grandchild on the way, there was no room for melancholic perception.

And you were right for many years, until sickness came to take you for good. It had started slowly, fatigue consuming your energy. You had thought nothing of it but it persisted and before Aomine really had time to process what was happening, you were lying beneath blankets in a hospital bed with a raging fever.

He stayed by your side day in and day out, and when you took Aomine by the hand and said: “I can't imagine a life without you,” he _knew_. He carefully climbed onto the bed, fitting himself against your frail body as your heartbeat began to slow.

Aomine told you that he _couldn't_ live his life without you, his voice raw and thick with the emotion building in the dark of his throat.

You told him many things before you passed, before Aomine was forced to listen to the machine at your side declare the stillness of your heart. But he had done as you asked, he had smiled in the same way he used to in his youth, his mouth stretching wide despite the tears sliding down his cheeks. He had pretended happiness so you could die comfortably, your hand pressed tight against his palm.

Aomine frowns, but the painful memory doesn't last long. Behind his eyelids there's a shift of light, momentarily blinding him before returning to darkness. He furrows his brow and opens his eyes, blinking himself into clarity.

The ache that he adopted in his old age is gone, and the ever-present pain that wracked his body has dissolved into warmth. He feels weightless and free, but nothing can compare to the sensation that spreads through him when he feels the familiarity of a hand take his own.

“I've been waiting for you,” you say, your voice a quiet lilt that strums what feels like Aomine's heartbeat into sound.

“____,” Aomine whispers, breath caught in his throat. “I...I've missed you so much.”

“I've missed you too,” you tell him, squeezing his hand tightly. It feels like something greater than a physical gesture, like a promise that you'll never have to be apart again. “Come on, there's someone I want you to meet.”

Aomine swallows thickly but the tears he's grown used to are gone. He no longer feels the anguish of being alone or the guilt that came with believing that he could have done _more_. You lead him forward whilst mentioning something about his messy scrawl in the letter left on the fridge for your child. Aomine laughs and it feels like everything has returned to the way it should be—he never believed that the definition of _normal_ held any true meaning—but he knows that being with you has always felt _right_.

He _knows_ that this is where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
